


Festivity

by adhddyke



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Death, First Meetings, Grief, M/M, Recovery, References to Depression, Some bad parenting references, Sorry if it seems that way here!, That's not how mental illness works, They are trying to heal themselves!, They aren't healing each other!, Trauma, optimistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adhddyke/pseuds/adhddyke
Summary: Mike and Stan are the only two people in the college library, open 24/7, in the early hours of Christmas morning. They are brought together by avoiding the armed burglars who have brought the number of people in the library up to six.
Relationships: Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Festivity

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to clarify as I did in the notes that I hope this doesn't read as a 'romance to help fix mental illness' thing- they aren't healing each other by their potential to be in a relationship, they are healing themselves in their wanting to help in a scary situation and be seeking to do these things to overcome issues. 
> 
> Now that's out of the way, I hope you enjoy! Not fully happy with this piece, but Stanlon deserves more actual Stanlon content and Mike in particular deserves some Mike-centric content so I'm posting this anyway. Thanks!

Staying at college over Christmas break definitely had its downsides, Mike had to admit. He was completely alone, it was colder than at the place that had been home, and he felt pressured to do way more work than he needed to. At the very least, it gave him the chance to do more work on the book he was writing, researching about the history of hate crimes in his hometown. And there had been a lot- so that was an upside of not staying there. 

Since he had started at college that September, he had been doing work at the college library, hoping to scrape by with a bit more money than his scholarship offered, unable to get it elsewhere. And while the library didn’t need non-security workers there for all the 24 hours it was open, especially at 2 in the morning on Christmas, Mike was more than willing to volunteer to. So he used his library worker campus card rather than his student one and entered the library after going home for something to eat- only to find on the available spaces board at the entrance that another student was currently in the library. 

While he knew it unhealthy to focus on other people's wellbeing rather than his own, Mike had a habit of generally being too compassionate. And naturally his heart went out to whatever poor, kindred soul was trapped not only in college but in the college library during the holidays. He reminded himself not to jump to conclusions- maybe they lived in the city and wanted to find a specific book for it. But then again, who would be doing that at 2am, let alone on Christmas day? Thus Mike made it his task to hunt down the other student and check up on them, to make sure they were okay and not having some mental breakdown or an awful holiday season. Because if Mike burdened himself with more responsibilities, he could ignore his open eyes and the smell of burning that haunted him.

Of course, there were four floors to check extensively- some students could find the weirdest nooks and crannies to do all kinds of weird shit in. Mike had spotted one too many masturbators watching other students from behind bookcases, and had to listen to way too many kids practice serenades next to the café doors. But that was different- all those kids had gone home. Yet anyone who was there at that time of night on Christmas was more than likely not wanting to be found all the same. Fortunately, he was fully rejuvenated and alive-feeling with too much coffee, that best remedy for nightmares. So he sped through the winding corridors of the old building with the expertise of someone who had spent too many hours there, playing hide-and-seek with an unwilling, unaware player. Maybe the other student would think he was creepy or insane and leave the library and leave him all alone again- but positive thoughts! Mike reminded himself that positive thoughts! Were all he needed! So he ignored the fears and doubts as best he could, trapping them in a little box, ignoring their scratching like trapped rats. 

It was in the communal seating, oddly enough but not really since everywhere was a quiet zone now, that he found the other student- and recognised him vaguely as being someone who spent a lot of time in the library as well, but not always on his own. While he couldn’t put a name to this face, he knew the other guy hung around the infamous Richie Tozier, who Mike himself spoke to quite a bit, since both were enrolled in the ‘Romosexuality’ history module. Somehow, perhaps too engaged in the accounting textbook in front of him, the other guy did not notice him. Maybe Mike was hidden behind too much tinsel. And there was that cardboard cut-out Santa Claus he was standing behind, finding himself oddly afraid to reveal his presence. While Mike had been able to tell someone else was here, this guy had got here before him, and had no way of knowing if some sad, lonely librarian was working at this sad, lonely time. But nothing good ever came from avoiding things- avoiding people- and Mike wanted nothing more than to bury himself in someone else (phrasing their mutual friend Richie Tozier would find hilarious) and forget himself. 

So working up his courage, but not really, Mike ducked out from behind Santa and cleared his throat, before hurriedly hiding behind Santa again, regretting his decision immediately. He could imagine how the other guy was frowning, closing his textbook, standing and searching. Maybe he would think there was a ghost, get scared, and leave. And then Mike would have scared him off without even speaking to him.

“Are you alright?” A quiet, level, not-quite monotonous voice asked. “You’re thinking rather loud.” Mike turned his head to accounting boy, and grimaced. 

“Sorry,” Mike said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Though he supposed he did mean to. “I was just- I work here, see. And I didn’t expect to see anyone here right now.” 

“I’d leave, if I’m bothering you. Only it’s just started to snow.” And Mike looked out of the window and saw that indeed it was snowing. Maybe, if he wasn’t trapped in college, he would have been overcome with the Christmas spirit or whatever it was people felt in those Hallmark movies. 

“You’re not bothering me,” Mike assured him. “I was just curious why you’re here.”  
“Why are you here?” The other guy asked with a slight defensive edge. 

“I told you,” Mike looked at the carpet, ruined with years of blackening chewing gum. “I work here.”  
“No one’s making you work,” he checked his watch- Mike didn’t realise people still wore watches, really, “at half past 2 in the morning on Christmas day.”   
“I’m Mike.”   
“You’re unwilling to answer the same question you asked,” the other guy corrected, but there was a slight tugging at the corner of his mouth, barely there. Still, Mike caught it and was relaxed by it; this other guy was just playing. “I’m Stan.”

“Stan is just one ‘a’ and some rearrangement away from Santa,” Mike noted. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t have a million elves to do my work for me,” Stan replied. 

“Doesn’t mean you have to work right now,” Mike pointed out. 

“And why are you here?” 

“Ah, you got me there.” 

They were quickly interrupted by the sound of a gun firing below them- and then another. Wide-eyed, the two shared a look, trying to register that noise, to make sense of it, so alien in this setting. 

“Why the fuck was there security here now?” Some man yelled downstairs. “We weren’t supposed to have to use these!”  
“I told you, this place is always open. Not everyone celebrates Christmas, dumbass,” said another person, just as loudly, this one a woman and seemingly in charge of whoever was there. “Just- just keep moving, ignore them. No one’ll have heard.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said a third voice, another man. Mike was grateful they were speaking so loudly. Though these walls and floors were rather thin, and there was nobody around to cover up that noise. “Check the screen. Someone’s here.”  
“Shit!” Said the woman. “Could have already called the police. Right, you two start looting. You’re with me- we’re tracking this fucker down. Come out, come out, wherever you are!” So there were four of them- and two were hunting Stan, and by extension Mike, once they realised he was here too. Stan was staring into nothingness, shaking, pale. Hoping the feeling wouldn’t be too much for the near-stranger, Mike grabbed Stan’s hand and took off, trying to think of where to hide and call for help. But Stan was in something of a catatonic state, and it was making Mike worried. So he couldn’t really drag Stan; luckily, he was rather strong, having worked on a farm for his whole childhood, and could easily scoop up the skinny man and still run relatively fast to somewhere safer than plain sight. 

Quickly, trying to be as logical as he could, Mike brought Stan into the staff room. Nobody would look for a student there, and the door could be locked from the inside. He set Stan down on the sofa, trying to forget the man’s heavy breathing for now, and then started moving furniture, barricading the door. 

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Stan said quietly, coming to again. His voice had a tremor to it. “Let me help. I- I could have gotten you killed just now, if they were faster.”  
“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Mike promised. “This is crazy scary. I’m terrified. I might do worse than zone out and straight up piss myself, if it makes you feel better.” Stan smiled at that, more obviously than before. Or maybe Mike was just already better at reading him. 

“Thank you, Mike,” and Mike cursed himself for liking hearing his name said aloud. He must have been really lonely already- or maybe he just liked hearing Stan say it. But that wasn’t a thought he wanted to have. 

“Well, that’s alright, Santa,” Mike replied. Stan rolled his eyes, but there was that quick flash of a slight smile again. “Hey, help me shift this chunky table?” 

As they moved the table, there was the sound of footsteps by them, walking past, and Mike remembered how nearby the computer room was. Stan held a finger up to his lips, and Mike was glad to see him suddenly filled with a certain bravery. He brought out a mobile phone, and quickly dialled the police. As he did, there was a thudding on the door- like someone trying to get in- and Mike lost himself in memories. He remembered how they had bashed on the door but yelled at him to leave, remembered the banging sounds of a house falling apart, remembered his own fists landing on the door of his neighbour’s house, knowing what had been done. Now he felt his body rocking, like he was on a boat, but he knew that there could be no water- only a river of angry fire. But there was the comforting feeling of arms, even if a little clinically placed, and he felt young again. There was the gentle _shhh_ of the sea, and he breathed with it, and the painful reds dancing in his eyes disappeared into darkness. Maybe he fell asleep, maybe he didn’t. Mike couldn’t place how long he sat on the floor like that for before he opened his eyes and found himself back in the staff room. 

“Hey,” Stan said. “Are you alright?”

“Not really,” Mike said before he could stop himself. “I will be.”

“They figured we weren't in here,” Stan told him. “You’re smart. The police are coming, but because of the snow we might have to hide in here a while.” 

“Are you alright? You look…” Stan’s eyes were red and surrounded by bags, and his hair was askew. 

“Just bad things to make a bad day worse, isn’t it? You can talk to me, if you want. About that,” Stan said. “I’m okay at listening, though I’m not great at advice.” 

“My parents died a few years ago,” Mike told him as Stan stroked his hair slowly, in a sort of half-there movement. It was peaceful. “My pops died over the summer. I don’t have anywhere else to be anymore, so I’m just here. I’m just- it’s hard. It’s fine. I just wish I could forget.”

“You don’t want to _forget_ ,” Stan replied. “You want to remember without the pain. That takes time.” 

“You’re not not great with advice,” Mike told him. “You’re probably right. I just want to speed up that process. I hate it. People are so- they’re so- argh, they’re so shit, you know?” 

“Oh, I know,” Stan sounded bitter, and felt tense, but he seemed to force himself to relax. 

“Why are you here, Stan?” Mike asked softly, shifting so he could sit up and look the other man in the eyes. Their hands were almost touching, just a centimetre apart on the floor. 

There was a shaky silence before Stan spoke.

“I’m Jewish,” Stan told him. “I don’t need to be home for Christmas. Really, I just want to keep up with my work. I’m here on scholarship.”

“I’m on scholarship,” Mike told him. “We don’t have to work that much. And I know Hanukkah is a thing. I won’t make you say anything, though. Just- if you ever need to speak to someone about it, I like listening.”  
“Maybe you should stop listening so much and start being listened to,” Stan advised. 

“Yeah, I know,” Mike shrugged. “But I like feeling helpful.” Another pause fell on them. Stan moved his hand (away from Mike) into his lap and started to fiddle with his fingers, making deliberate circular motions.

“I’m gay,” Stan told him. Mike felt himself heat up.

“Cool,” he blurted, unsure of himself. “That’s, uh, cool, and that. You know. Nice. I- I sound like a homophobe, huh? I’m bi, I swear.” Stan mumbled something, and Mike’s self-deluding, because it had to be that, made him hear ‘cute’. 

“That’s cool and that and nice,” Stan replied, teasing. Mike wanted to die. What was the quickest way of that? Blowing up? He prayed for spontaneous combustion. “My parents found out. By that I mean I told them. Stupidly. They disowned me the moment I turned eighteen. That’s why I need the scholarship. And the distraction. And to stay in college. God, why am I even speaking to you?” 

“Because we’re about to develop some shared trauma?” Mike offered. And christ was it depressing, but they both started to laugh. 

It was a startling realisation a few minutes later that Stan had fallen asleep, and thus fallen down against his shoulder. Quite adorably, the angle was pushing all the flesh of Stan’s cheek upwards, so it squished into his eye. For a moment, Mike could forget about the conditions behind their being together at that moment in time. In fact, he was tempted to close his eyes and sleep himself. But then he heard voices outside of the staff room. 

“Where else could the brat be?” The leader of the group said, her voice vicious, probably supposed to be a harsh whisper but instead just harsh. “Smoke them out.”  
“Jeez, ain’t that kinda harsh?” One of the others said. “They never saw our faces. The police ain’t here, either. We can just go.”   
“I’m not taking any risks,” the woman snapped. “Do it.” 

Panicked, Mike shook Stan awake, and then immediately placed his hand over the other’s mouth. He was terrified- the word ‘smoke’ was hardly bringing back positive memories. He could feel his mind starting to blur even though no fires had been started yet to choke him. 

“We gotta- out the window- or-” Mike was rambling, uncertain and afraid. He did not realise Stan was trying to break out of his grip until he bit his hand just hard enough to be released. 

“Mike, listen to me,” Stan was saying, and he was talking too fast. There was mania in his eyes, the same look that Mike knew was in his. Stan wasn’t doing great, either, but Mike knew he was trying to take control for his sake, and that was good. That was nice, and new. “I can tell you’re scared. But going out of that window- we won’t make that jump. I won’t, at least.”  
“I’d catch you,” Mike promised. 

“I believe you,” Stan replied. “But you don’t need to be all heroic right now. You don’t have to be okay. So get stressed if you need to- you can’t help it. And let me solve this. I’m good at puzzles.” 

“Don’t be self-sacrificing,” Mike warned. 

“Oh, please,” Stan, who had been walking up to the door, turned back to smile at him, his voice a whisper now. “I only met you today but I can tell you’re the king at that. And I’m the worst.” Mike heard the sound of a match scratching against a matchbox, and felt a chill creep up along his spine, making his neck twitch. There was a feeling of dread building up within him, bubbling up to the surface of his skin alongside the danger. 

“Wait!” Mike shouted just as Stan opened the door, and the thieves who had broken into the library, still holding their guns, threw a large firecracker into the room. Mike tried to scream, but couldn’t, as the firecracker went off in a series of horrible, loud sparks, releasing smoke that built up around his ankles. And amidst the chaos he saw Stan approach the people, and realised he was supposed to hide, but he couldn’t. He fell to his knees, hearing his parents’ screams, hearing the sheep bleating, feeling his eyes burning as the fire and smoke hit them. 

“No,” Stan was saying. “It’s just me. Please don’t hurt me. The police- they’re stuck in the snow. You can still get away. This hasn’t gone as planned- I know you didn’t mean to have to shoot those people-”

“He’s lying,” Mike declared, fully purposefully, fully aware of what he was doing. Because he was terrified, and he knew he would always be terrified. He hadn’t been able to save his parents and that wasn’t his fault. But this time he could do something- and both he and Stan would feel in control again. He didn’t have to be self-sacrificing anymore, and Stan didn’t have to try to be- they could work together, and they could do it right. “I’m also here. The police are stuck, though.” 

“Mike,” Stan frowned. The four had their guns out, pointing them at them, herding them so they stood together. 

“You won’t feel good or in control if you give yourself up for everyone else up, Stan. It won’t help. You’ll just lose yourself more,” Mike whispered. 

“What’s he saying?” The leader of the thieves demanded. 

“That he saw that big guy empty your gun earlier,” Stan lied swiftly, and Mike had to admit he was pretty impressed. 

“That wasn’t all I had to tell him,” Mike added, not looking at Stan to avoid suspicion, though he felt the other’s eyes on him. “Tell me, how long have you been planning to kill her?” He nodded towards the leader, addressing another one of the men. 

“You what?” The leader snarled. 

“He’s making stuff up!” The biggest guy insisted. “They’re trying to save themselves!” 

“You guys were making plans without me? About what I said we should do!” The fourth sounded outraged. It was luck, really, that their improvisation had some truth behind it. 

“You, too?” The leader shrieked.

And thus their guns were pointed everywhere but at Mike and Stan as the chaos began, yells and shouts, punches. Stan grabbed Mike’s hand. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. Mike grinned, although he was still scared. There was a lot of adrenalin. And they tried not to flinch when a gun went off again. They couldn’t not look when they passed the library’s entrance as they ran, the bodies of the two security workers bleeding next to each other. Stan stopped to vomit when they had to jump over them but he accidentally nudged one with his toe. Mike held back his curls and waited, finding himself defeating the fear. 

Outside, it was cold, and Mike’s cheeks started to hurt, tinged by the wind. They collapsed into the snow, laughing again, as the sound of sirens neared. 

“It’s a Christmas miracle, Santa,” Mike told Stan. 

“I’m still Jewish,” Stan said. “That wasn’t a lie.” 

They spent the rest of the morning’s darkness in the police station, making statements, confirming identities, and thus separated. Mike spent that time longing for his family to collect him, but also for the safety of Stan again, who was not a substitute for them and never would be- since that would hardly be healthy- but was someone new and brilliant who made him feel less alone again. And Mike hoped he was the same for Stan. So when he was free to go, he was happy to stumble out stupidly into the snow to Stan, who had a genuine, obvious smile on his face. 

“They recommend a therapist to you, too?” Stan asked. Mike smiled. 

“No,” he replied, voice thick with playful sarcasm. “They just kept telling me about how crazy that Stan kid sounded.” 

“Well, how about I tell you how good breakfast sounds now?” Stan suggested. “There’s this one place I know that’s meant to be open today. Not run by Christians, I guess.” Mike’s heart soared. 

There was nobody else at this breakfast bar at eight in the morning on Christmas, so Mike couldn’t help but think about how intimate the whole thing was. It almost made him forget how exhausted he was. 

“I felt so alive in there,” Stan admitted. “For the first time in so long, I was real. Thank you. I’d never have gotten out there, never tried to help us- if I weren’t with you.”  
“You’re amazing, Stan. You helped me, too,” Mike said. And again, their hands were starting to graze. He wasn’t trapped in college anymore. He was willingly at some sort of home. Next he would just need to work up the courage to actually hold Stan’s hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading, please avoid butchering me in the comments, and hope you enjoyed! <3


End file.
